Beijing – The End of an Epic Ride

Our ride through the industrialised east of China was a contrast to our earlier experience of the country’s rural areas. Lorries clogged the roads and our eyes smarted from the smog and pollution in the air. Today there was an air of expectation tinged with sadness; it was our last day of riding as we headed into Beijing itself. The Expressway was beckoning; this is a system of motorway toll roads which enable traffic to move speedily across China and on which motorbikes are strictly not allowed. For days we’d been gazing with envy at the lucky cars as they sped along while we were caught up in traffic snarls on the much slower roads. The no bikes rule had not stopped some of our group from trying though, with the fearless Waltzing Matildas being turned away on no less than four occasions…in just one day. Today was our chance though; we were to be allowed to use the “Forbidden Fruit” as the area manager of the Expressway into Beijing is a fan of BMW bikes and gave us special dispensation to ride in along it. We enjoyed the feel of once more using the higher gears on the bike, easily covering distances which would have taken us much longer on the other roads, but we also realised that actually we could be riding at home on roads like this and not on the other side of the world. On the super-fast road we missed seeing the trucks with their comedy loads, the sight of whole families crammed onto one scooter and the smiles and waves of the other drivers as we passed by. So maybe there is a trade-off and actually going the fastest route isn’t the best way to travel.

As the outskirts of Beijing loomed, a group of local BMW riders turned up to escort us into the city, they were delighted to see us, and we were to see them as we were just about lost at that point (mentioning no names). A brisk 20 minute ride ensued as we followed them weaving expertly through the chaotic traffic (they were decidedly more expert than us) and led us to the BMW dealership where a gala reception awaited us. Music, tables laden with food, a massive welcome banner, crates of chilled beers and crowds of people congratulating us and wanting to hear all about our ride and the adventures we’d had.

As we lined up for photos and presentations, with the festivities just beginning, the incredible feeling of “We’ve made it” ran through us all as we grinned and congratulated one another, together our multinational group from America, Australia, Sweden, Switzerland and Britain had completed this incredible 13,000 mile ride across the planet’s largest landmass and despite accidents, earthquakes and government disapproval we’d even managed to arrive on time after 80 days on the road. It was definitely time to celebrate.

Break for the Border

Our sojourn in Lhasa was brought to an abrupt halt when we received word that the Chinese authorities were revoking our permits to ride through Tibet. The system of permits allowing foreigners to travel in China using their own vehicles is a complicated and involves a long-winded, time-consuming application process. This is part of the reason so few motorcycle companies venture this way. Getting the permission to also ride the length of Tibet is even more fraught and this year, GlobeBusters were the only group to get this hard-sought permission.

We’d behaved impeccably but due to civil unrest in an Eastern town, the Chinese powers that be decided that 13 motorbikes posed too much of a risk to them especially as our visit was coinciding with the 90th anniversary of the mighty Chinese Communist Party.

We looked at our options, which included trucking the bikes east following our planned route and the riders flying, in the end we had to make a break for the northern border out of Tibet which lies just over a day’s ride from Lhasa. For many it was a relief to hear that we would only be facing tarmac on this final ride through the Himalayas. We passed nomads and their yak herds as we rode north seeing pilgrims prostrating themselves as they travelled hundreds of miles along the road to Lhasa. Convoy after convoy of Chinese military trucks went by us in the opposite direction; it looked like trouble was brewing so probably best to get out.

The temperature rose as we headed out of the mountains and the roadside yaks were replaced by camels, the bleak yet beautiful tree-less landscapes were supplanted first by desert then by lush greenery. The return of normal levels of oxygen in the air was welcomed by us all as we re-discovered acceleration on the bikes and we were no longer breathless. We started to encounter traffic-filled streets, dominated by lorries, and in the towns small scooters nipping around with their silent electric engines. The driving was the worst we had encountered (yes, even worse than the Iranians), we’d listened to the stories and dire warnings from veterans of last year’s trip, but no matter how much you heard about how bad the driving is in China, nothing prepares you for the reality of cars, bikes, scooters and even trucks suddenly swerving out in front of you from a side road, doing U-Turns without warning or just driving in the wrong direction on the dual carriageway, we all had many close calls and one rider actually came off their bike, after a particularly foolhardy stunt by a moped. A quick hospital visit to check no breaks and they were back on their bike within a day.


Our route through China took us past such awe-inspiring sights as the Giant Buddha statue and the Giant Panda Reserve with its unique opportunities to see the pandas up close in the wild. The highlight was probably the Terracotta Army in Xian, the immense multitude of clay warriors buried underground for hundreds of years, a whole day was spent wandering around the marvels that have been uncovered. Some also took to the city walls surrounding Xian, exploring using a very different form of two-wheeled transport, on tandem bicycles, with some hilarious results.

Everest

Another early start, though barely suppressed excitement as we put on our bike gear and got the bikes ready. We were heading out on the ultimate of day trips, a ride up the slopes of Mount Everest. A couple of the riders had talked about how this was going to be the culmination of an ambition they’d had for years. As we were coming back to the same hotel in the evening, we only needed minimal luggage, if any on the bikes, which was good as we knew it was not to be an easy ride.

In the Himalayas there’s often a lack of signposts, let alone ones in English, however, there along the Friendship Highway which connects Tibet and its neighbour Nepal, is a marker pointing east clearly marked for Everest Base Camp – a classic photo opportunity.

Clearing the first of several checkpoints, we were allowed along the route, the dirt road hairpin bends started almost immediately and we all groaned to ourselves. However, when you’re heading up towards the world’s highest mountain, you’ve got to expect switchbacks and hairpins.

We crossed the lower range and there for the first time, we got a sight of the planet’s most famous peak, Mount Everest in all its glory. We lined up the bikes for a photo and a breather, then the hairpins continued, through small Tibetan villages, past tiny cultivated fields and via tunnels cut through the rock. Locals turned to watch us pass by on our bikes.

Dodging yaks and potholes we arrived at Rongphu Monastery, the highest in the world. Mark’s shock absorber had gone on the way up, so he set to work replacing it, with the famous view in the background behind him. As Expedition Leader, he’s been here twice before so we didn’t feel too bad about leaving him behind with the toolbox as the rest of us continued to Base Camp.

We reached Base Camp itself, a fairly quiet place at this time of year as the climbing season has ended, the window of opportunity for ascending Everest is just six weeks or so and over by late May. There were security guards, souvenir sellers and ourselves, we were the ones gasping in the thin air as we toiled up to the small hill next to camp for the best vantage point of the mountain.

The camp is the closest point to the peak that it’s possible to get (short of climbing it), though to our eyes, it still looked a hell of a long way to travel on foot to the summit from where we were.

Having taken our fill of photos, absorbed the atmosphere, explored the monastery, twirled the prayer wheels and retrieved Mark, we turned our bikes round and headed back down.
We’d had the most fantastic views of the mountain and it was only through talking to one of the guides that we discovered how lucky we were, this had been the first clear day for five days and that amongst the few tourists there, some of them had been waiting the whole five days for just such a day as this. We really were fortunate.

Now we just had another 94 hairpins on gravel to negotiate back down again. Time for beers in the bar where we compared our photos of the big landmark.

The Roof of the World

Tibet is in one of the most isolated regions in the world, bound to the south by the 2500km long Himalayas and to the west by the immense Karakoram mountain range and for most of our long journey out here, this had been flagged up as the section that separates the men from the boys and wow, was it a tough one.

Our final mountain pass out of China had opened up a vista of peaks stretching off into the distance. No wonder Tibet is dubbed the Roof of the World and we were about to try and ride across it. Our first night had been spent at 4000 metres, an unsettled night for all as the lack of oxygen affects sleep patterns and causes restless dreams. As we got up yawning and breathless, the sobering thought was that we’d just had what would be our lowest altitude night for some time.

We rode off not knowing what to expect, except that it would not be easy… river crossings, precipitous slopes, snow, sand, gravel, bull dust and mud, there was one thing we knew for certain and that was not to expect tarmac. On the plus side there isn’t much in the way of other traffic up here, though where there is, it’s often big lorries creating huge dust clouds. Various roadworks added to our problems, the loose surfaces they were laying combined with the bulldozers and JCBs were extra obstacles. The workers themselves, both Chinese and Tibetan were living in tents huddled together on the wind-swept slopes, we realised some of these tents were housing their families, an incredibly hard existence at these altitudes in such flimsy abodes.

It was an arduous ride, though we were rewarded by views that were breath-taking, Tibet is the land of massive vistas and big sky, wherever we pointed our cameras we were getting great pictures. The lakes are turquoise and the mountains are suitably jagged and snow-clad. Narrow twisty tracks took us around the edges of the lakes, at times we were just inches from the water’s edge.

The toughest day saw us cover more than 200 miles riding at over 5000 metres all day on loose gravel, going through four snowstorms and struggling to find shelter anywhere. One of the bikes was run off the track by a lorry and sustained some damage. Another bike went over on uneven ground and due to the angle and effect of the altitude the rider was unable to right it and had to wait for assistance- this meant almost an hour at temperatures hovering around the freezing mark before a lorry came past, which was flagged down and the driver and his mate got out to help. Each mile was hard fought to achieve, the occasional settlement provided a bit of shelter and, if we were lucky, noodles in a warming soup, and a place where we could cluster around the yak dung fire, counting each rider in. Both the bikes and the riders were starved of oxygen affecting our riding, handling and coordination. Those who had previously conquered the lofty heights of the Andes on their bikes were in awe at the altitudes we were reaching on this expedition. Heated clothing was switched on for all those who had it, the unlucky three without that luxury (actually a necessity at these elevations) were to be found attempting to bribe others to give up their heated items for them to use.

With gritted teeth and a feeling of achieving something that very few other people in the world will do, we rode past stunning panoramas which if the oxygen deprivation hadn’t done it for us already would have taken our breath away. Yaks and the occasional herd of graceful antelope were our only companions.

With no towns, accommodation at night was basic to say the least. No running water, shared rooms and the toilet just a couple of planks to balance on over a pit with an insubstantial shelter around it.

After several days riding, Mount Kailash loomed into sight, a 6714 m peak with religious significance for over a billion people. Some of whom had travelled up here to do a kora (pilgrimage circuit) around it, we were now starting to meet other travellers, many of them Hindu pilgrims from India. These residents from cities as far afield as Bombay and Calcutta were delighted to chat as they shivered from within their layers of Arctic-style clothing. They asked if we were also pilgrims, we answered truthfully that it was a different kind of pilgrimage we were on, one in search of the ultimate riding experience.

Lake Manasarovar also had its pilgrims and a very picturesque monastery overlooking the village. Nearby thermal springs were so hot that yelps were heard from unwary riders as they soothed their aching muscles. We had reached Central Tibet and tarmac was now appearing, speeding up our journey and allowing us to claw back a precious day that we’d lost due to the earthquake near Kashgar. Although we were tired, our spirits picked up as we were nearing the Himalayas’ star attraction, Mount Everest.

The Start of China!

Our twelfth country and what an assault on the senses. For most of the group, this was our first taste of the world’s most populous country, and it left us reeling. The cacophony of noise, the masses of people, the smells of cooking wafting through the air, and the jostling as crowds pushed past us in the street. We were in Kashgar, probably the most legendary of the Silk Road cities and it didn’t disappoint. Having left our bikes at the border, we’d managed to reach the city by taking a bus from the border to the bridge, struggling across the remaining splintered girders and then getting on another bus on the other side, altogether a five hour journey.

While awaiting daily reports on the status of the repairs to the damaged bridge we explored the city. This province of China is dominated by the Uighur people who are Muslims and have more in common with the people of the countries we’d just passed through and even Turkey than with the Han Chinese. Our vocabulary of words we’d gleaned through the ‘Stans stood us in good stead as Salaam Aleikum was still the greeting here.

The bazaars and mosques were fascinating, the highlight being the famous Sunday Market and the livestock market, where hundreds of animals were gathered, tethered and then examined closely before being purchased and led away. Not a place for the squeamish but still great to see.
Finally word came through, the bridge was repaired, and we could collect our bikes. We wasted no time in picking them up, completing some much-needed maintenance and then early the next morning setting off once more.

At our first stop heading south fuel bizarrely was being served out of a kettle –a five litre kettle that had to be filled at the pump then carried over to the bike and poured into the tank, for some of us, this meant three trips with the kettle. For safety reasons, it’s considered too risky to fill motorbikes at the petrol pumps themselves, the bikes are not allowed any closer than 10 feet to the pumps, and in some cases, bikes weren’t even allowed within the compound.

Our journey into the remote and mountainous region of south west China was not without incident. Racer Boy Richardson and his other half Shotgun Shirley once more found themselves on the wrong side of the law and were actually taken into police custody along with another rider and a guide after they had inadvertently taken the wrong road. Meanwhile the rest of the group were halfway up a mountain, where one poor rider was repairing his third puncture of the day – a perished inner tube was to blame. One bike ended up on the back of a pick-up truck getting back to the town after an unfortunate fall on a sandy stretch. Our final stretch of tarmac also had some surprises in store for us with a couple of vicious sandstorms hitting all the riders.

Sometimes we come across the most unlikely scenarios, and we had one where the road was suddenly dug up between two groups of riders – a trench that was three feet wide and four feet deep was dug by a JCB. The second group of riders came to a halt and looked around. They spotted a steep bank at the side, borrowed some shovels and got to work to create a ramp to get the bikes around the obstacle. Fifteen minutes later and the final four bikes had progressed through. Naturally the first group of riders didn’t believe them until they saw the pictures to prove it.

We re-grouped at the town of Yecheng, staying in the strangely named Electricity Company Hotel for our last night before hitting the mountains. Inevitably discussions arose about altitude sickness and how to spot it- several coughs were smothered as we found out that a cough can be a key symptom, nobody wanted to miss out on the riding due to altitude sickness. Having conquered the mountains of Central Asia we felt confident our bikes would stand up to the Himalayas (but that was before we saw them).

Leaving the ‘Stans

Our final day in Tajikistan found us packing the bikes in the chill early morning air. Luckily breakfast included porridge, or at least a Tajik form of it, to warm us up and yak butter to spread on the bread. We had an early start as there was a long ride at high altitude plus a dreaded border crossing - today we would be going to Kyrgyzstan. The road turned out to be mostly tarmac – a pleasant surprise for us and a welcome change to the dirt roads, meaning that we could take in our surroundings, the awesome mountains continued and then there was Lake Karakol, where we ventured down to the lakeshore for some amazing photos.

There was a fence running along on the eastern side of us - it turned out to be the Chinese border. They’ve got the whole country fenced off by the looks of it, so there’s no sneaking in the back way – or at least not without a Steve McQueen style bike jump.

The final stretch to the border was another steep dirt track. This was to be the day’s third pass over .4000 metres, the group are all taking it in their stride now and the bikes are coping well with the thin air - we just don’t have the acceleration that we’d have lower down.

The border itself is quite a spread out affair as the Tajiks insist on having their border post at the top of the mountain while the Kyrgyz people more sensibly have theirs at a lower elevation where you can actually breathe. We managed to exit fairly easily, only paying one bribe and having to dodge the herd of yak ambling through. We temporarily lost two of our riders when one of them discovered he had a puncture. Not bad going, considering by this stage our bikes have covered a combined total of almost 100,000 miles, and this was the first puncture.

We’d been warned to expect treacherous, slippery mud on the route down the other side through the 11 miles of no-man’s land. We were lucky, a run of dry weather meant that the mud had dried out a lot, yes the bikes were sliding at times, and getting perilously close to the precipice, but it wasn’t as bad as we’d feared and we all made it safely down to the smiling Kyrgyz border guards who processed our entry in record time and sent us on our way. Due to the political turmoil that has engulfed Kyrgyzstan in recent times, we were only to have one night in this great country. We stayed in the small settlement of Sary Tash where accommodation was offered in a homestay or in a yurt. The Aussies tried the yurt and declared it cosy. Our meals were served in another yurt, traditionally decorated where we sat cross-legged around a low table. Yaks and cows roamed through the village, looking at us curiously as we rode by.

The following morning and another early start as we had another border crossing – suckers for punishment! We had two in less than 24 hours. Yet again we had a stunningly beautiful ride; a panorama of snow-topped peaks surrounded us as we left the village. Mark, our expedition leader was amazed, on his previous two rides through here; the weather had been so bad that they had not seen any of these mountains before.

A delay on the way was caused by another puncture! Our luck had obviously run out as far as our invincible tyres were concerned. Our luck was out in other areas as well, as this turned out to be a record-breaking border crossing, surpassing all expectations (plus the sweepstake) by taking 10 hours to clear. The puncture delayed us and our van was having electrical problems. But the main reason for our delay was that a major earthquake had hit north-western China the previous day and had destroyed a bridge on the only road from the border to the rest of the country. Our group was not allowed to enter China without guides and our guides were stuck on the far side of the bridge. They eventually made it through; our progress through customs was also hampered by the fact that they take a three hour lunch break at the border post. The bikes were fumigated by a guy driving a mini-van and wielding a spray gun that pathetically sprayed some sort of liquid at the front and rear tyres. Naturally there was a fee for this - worth it for the entertainment value.

Reports about the bridge indicated that it was not passable and so we left our bikes in the customs compound and climbed onto a bus (oh the indignity) clutching helmets and bike gear. We headed off, unaware of how long it would be before we were to see our bikes again.

Tajikistan – The Jewel in the Crown

Our ride through the ‘Stans brought us to Tajikistan, one of the least known of the former Soviet states, but perhaps one of the most stunning. Geographically it’s the Bolivia of Central Asia, a landlocked country with mountains covering over 90% of its surface area.

Yep, it’s mountainous and so it’s an ideal place for bike travel, if you’re feeling adventurous. The tarmac, where it exists is often pitiful and the gravel you can really get to grips with, just the clouds of dust are a problem, soon solved by ensuring that you’re the front rider as many of our group discovered. The numerous peaks and mountain passes gave us miles of twisting tracks to ride, a relief after some of the desert roads we’d ridden to get here. Uzbekistan may have grabbed more than its fair share of stunning architecture, but it had nothing to compare with the majesty of the Pamir mountains, or in fact any of the mountain ranges that litter Tajikistan.

We started in Dushanbe, with its cool leafy boulevards, great array of restaurants (Ecuadorian dinner anyone?), fantastic outdoor beer and shashlik gardens is not actually very typical of Tajik life. We made the most of it, though our main activity was the maintenance and servicing of the bikes. We had 26 tyres to unload from the roof - everyone was changing from the hardwearing multi-use Metzeler Tourance to knobbly tyres with a bit of bite to them, the majority of us electing to have Continental TKC’s. It was back-breaking work as we removed wheels, changed tyres, did oil changes and replaced filters, as well as the all-important checking every bolt to ensure they’re secure and hadn’t rattled loose on all the bumpy tracks. By the end of the second day in Dushanbe, all the work was completed and we could relax a bit.


Our hotel had a lot of military personnel staying, mostly air force officers from a number of different countries and all of them having a role in Afghanistan - a stark reminder just how close we now are to the conflict areas. They were all fascinated with us and our bikes, and the fact that we had ridden here from London. They crowded round asking their questions, with some of them ready to sign up for a trip with us next year.

Eventually we tore ourselves away from the luxuries of Wi-Fi Internet access, cold beers and air-conditioning, knowing that it's going to be weeks rather than days before we experience them again. The road took us south to the Amu Darya river which marks the border with Afghanistan. Here, there were a lot more animals roaming in their flocks and herds as well as donkeys in abundance, a clear reflection of Tajikistan’s poor economic situation – it is the poorest of the former Soviet Republics and around 20% of the population lives on less than $1.25 a day.

The mountains got higher and we were riding around 120 miles a day, the combination of gravel, sand, loose stones and river crossings ensuring that it was still a full day of riding, though the river crossings were mostly dry as they have had a mild winter here. Very different to the conditions experienced in 2010! Each evening we’d arrive at our home-stay (fairly basic accommodation with local families) marvelling at the amazing scenery that we’d seen and comparing ride experiences of thrills and of course the occasional spills. No-one has escaped unscathed at this point.

For days on end we followed the river, all the time no more than 100 yards from Afghanistan on the opposite bank, where we could see the local people going about their daily lives and often they would call across and wave at us riding our bikes through. We reached the Wakhan Valley, one of the most remote places in the world and once more the scenery became even more amazing with the Hindu Kush forming a back drop. In fact, Afghanistan is so narrow at this point that the mountains we were looking at are actually in Pakistan, some of them being over 6,000 metres high (nearly 20,000 feet). Looking at the snow on them, we could start to envision how the Himalayas will appear when we reach them in a couple of weeks.

We arrived at the Yamchun fortress, a 2nd century fortification with its magnificent mountainside position commanding the valley which made a great spot for photo opportunities. Then as a reward for making it along the narrow and steep gravel track, some of us took advantage of the Bibi Fatima hot springs, making the most of the hot water gushing out of the mountainside to soothe our weary muscles and wash away the dust and sweat from the journey.

Our ride out of the Wakhan Valley was possibly the most spectacular yet (though that was before we saw what Kyrgyzstan had to offer), as the track wound its way up from the valley floor until we were at 4300 metres, gasping for breath and having to ride through sand, a challenge for everyone. We also had our first casualty of the trip, when a kamikaze dash across the track by a golden marmot ended badly for it under the wheel of a rider who will remain nameless, but who comes from the same country that gave us ABBA.

Our final day along the famous Pamir Highway, with herds of yak alongside brought us to Murghab, the epitome of a wild west town, an extremely dusty settlement where the bazaar operates out of abandoned shipping containers and yak dung is the main source of fuel. Tomorrow another border and the Kyzl Art Pass await!

Unbelievable Uzbekistan

Despite the sadistic behaviour of some of the Uzbek border guards we were ready to be impressed with Uzbekistan and we weren’t disappointed. The sun was setting over the desert as we arrived showing off the landscape to its best advantage, even the graveyards looked stunning.
Uzbekistan has the dubious honour of being a double land-locked country ie not only does it not possess a coastline but none of the countries it borders have a coastline either. Sand might be plentiful, but seaside holidays are not really an option for the average Uzbeki person.

We had three classic Silk Road cities on our journey through Uzbekistan, each one as incredible as the previous one. From Khiva and its mud walled inner city in the north, through Bukhara with the Kalon minaret that so impressed Genghis Khan when he came this way that it was virtually the only building he didn’t raze to the ground in the whole of Central Asia and then the incomparable Samarkand with the blue-tiled splendour of the Registan, probably the best known monument in this part of the world.

We wandered through these cities and also had guided tours to really appreciate them, learning about medrasses, mosques and mausoleums as well as the great Timerlane. The roads were variable with some serious gravel, loose dirt and mud in the north where there appears to be 60 miles of continuous road works, not too bad to ride on an adventure bike but the unpredictable swerving of the lorries and cars around us made it more perilous. The infamous Uzbek speed traps on the roads didn’t blunt our enjoyment as we all managed to avoid their clutches, except Al who talked his way out in true Geordie style.

Some riders even bribed guards to climb the impossibly steep steps of the minarets and get the ultimate views with their cameras. We also came across other bike travellers including the Italians and the Scousers in Bukhara. A sense of camaraderie always develops as we swapped stories about our exploits to reach this far-flung part of the planet.

The money is almost comical as the exchange rate is almost 4,000 Uzbek Som to the pound, but they don’t have many large denomination notes and so every transaction involves a big wad of banknotes. Changing £100 found us stuffing money into every pocket available.

Due to a spat with neighbouring Tajikistan, some of the borders were closed at short notice (not an uncommon occurrence in the ‘Stans) and so we had to change our route and head south out of Samarkand to the frontier post near Denav. A beautiful ride in itself though it did mean that we would be missing the infamous Tunnel of Doom that had awaited us in the Fan Mountains of northern Tajikistan. For some, it was a disappointment to miss such a challenge, but for others a relief not to be facing that high altitude obstacle.

Turkmenistan Tales

We were leaving the Middle East and ahead of us loomed the ‘Stans, more formally known as Central Asia, however first we had another border crossing to deal with. Having learnt by now to be prepared, our group was well armed not only with drinks and snacks but also books and laptops, though an impromptu team “push-ups” competition also livened the proceedings a bit. Finally Iranian bureaucracy was finished with us, a small bonus was that we were so late getting out of Iran that the Turkmenistan Customs officials rushed us through as they were due to finish and head home.

This meant we were through more quickly than expected and soon found ourselves riding down a beautiful mountain road as the sun was going down. Minutes later we found ourselves staring in awe as a cluster of white marble buildings seemed to rise from the floor of the desert. We had reached Ashgabat, the capital and a despot’s dream. The President who had been in charge since the end of the Soviet regime had insisted that every building in his capital be covered with white marble to make them more pleasing to look at. For most of us however, our eyes were drawn to the nearest bar which happened to be a British pub complete with a league football match showing on the TV. It was our first alcohol since leaving Eastern Turkey and the cold beers went down well, for some a little too well, particularly when they saw their bar bills.

We had two days of rest in the city and ventured out onto the streets for a walking tour with Oleg the guide. Wonderfully informative and an eye-opener into just how far a megalomaniac can take his ego in one city. Whichever way we looked there were statues and portraits of the Presidents with the current one rapidly replacing those of the old one with flattering images of himself. There were soldiers everywhere, ensuring that no pictures were taken of sensitive subjects, as it seemed a bit random just what was considered sensitive, many of us fell foul of them, at one point for just taking a snapshot of the stainless steel traffic lights. Our Swiss rider JB seemed to perfect the art of international espionage and was to be seen trotting away from angry militia at almost every corner – never once breaking into a sweat as they ran after him in hot pursuit.

After the chador clad women of Iran, here the females looked particularly graceful, the majority of them wearing long gowns that are brightly coloured and embroidered, and sporting long plaits and bejewelled skull caps. Whilst the men appear to favour huge fleecy and shaggy hats.
The heat of the desert meant we spent some time by the hotel pool where some riders provided us with a demonstration of yoga alongside one of Aussie yoga which makes good use of a cold can of beer to get that extra stretch.

Tiring of pool and city life we headed north, the roads after Ashgabat were to be straight ones as they cross the desert. In keeping with the police state policies of Turkmenistan, we had to travel in convoy at all times. The smooth tarmac of the city was quickly replaced by broken up slabs that we weaved our way around. We spotted our first camels and stopped to take pictures and marvel at the way they just wander out into the road oblivious to the traffic, which admittedly in the Kara Kum desert is few and far between.

The only garage in the area was out of petrol; luckily we were carrying some spare fuel. Our destination for the night was in the desert itself where after negotiating our way cautiously through some deep sand, we unloaded the tents and quickly set them up – some more quickly than others as the pop-up tent once more proved its worth. Kebabs were cooked over an open fire and a delicious meal was produced and eaten accompanied by cold beers as the sun went down. Once it was completely dark, we headed further into the desert to see the famous Flaming Gas Crater of Darvaza, a huge crater which lights up the night sky as the natural gas is burning where it seeps out through the cracks in the rocks. Some say it’s been burning for 60 years, but no-one seems to know exactly why it’s ablaze, rumours abound of Russian mining incompetence but the locals disagree. We watched it awestruck and took photos but none will do it justice. All agreed it was worth a night in a tent to witness such a spectacle.

The next morning back onto the desert road, which deteriorated as we ventured further north. The villages are polar opposites to Ashgabat, life is crowded, chaotic and often dirty, but we were greeted warmly at every settlement we rode through. It was a long day and when the border post was finally in sight we breathed a sigh of relief but we were in for a shock as the Uzbek border guards were almost sadistic in their attitude towards us. Forcing us to stand out in the desert sun for many hours while they very slowly processed the vehicles one at a time, searching through everything. Hours later we were finally through and as the sun set we turned south east to the fabled Silk Road City of Khiva.

Iran had Surprised Us

The Ayatollah’s stony gaze bored into us as we gathered nervously around our bikes. We hadn’t even entered Iran yet but already we knew we were being watched. On this remote frontier in eastern Turkey where the dust blows and the queue of lorries awaiting customs clearance trails off into the distance, everything is presided over by the majestic snow-clad Mount Ararat. We had completed nearly 2000 miles riding through Turkey, a country that had provided surprising contrasts in riding trails and sights. Now we had the formidable border crossing into the Islamic Republic of Iran ahead of us. A volatile situation in the Middle East also meant that we may not be granted entry at all – particularly the Americans amongst us. The week’s news coverage had shown violent riots and uprisings in many countries in the region as well as reprisals against American targets in response to the recent killing of Osama Bin Laden; so perhaps not a good time to be knocking on the door of the sworn enemy of the West.


In observance of Sharia law, the female riders had donned long skirts and headscarves over their riding gear as we waited at the final checkpoint out of Turkey. Ahead of us on the wall was a forty foot high mural depicting two Ayatollahs and it was their gaze we were suffering under.

In the event, we weren’t interrogated and the worst part of the border-crossing process was the tedious wait as the paperwork was processed; some snoozed on their bikes, others read or edited videos on laptops while the rest of us people-watched and snacked on pistachios and dried fruit. Names were called out of those who are nationals of countries considered the least desirable by the Iranian Government– in our case, all the Yanks and the Brits. They were led away to an office to be not just finger-printed but also palm-printed, a process that left both hands covered in an indelible blue ink. Iranian immigration obviously wanted to mark them permanently as enemies of the State for the duration of their stay. The members of the Blue Hand Gang were kept separate from the Aussies, Swede and Swiss for the next couple of hours, until finally we were reunited, taken outside, number plates checked on the bikes and we were on our way. We left the border post quickly in case they changed their minds, riding in convoy behind a white Peugeot with lights flashing.

The sombre entry into Iran was a one-off, the rest of the country was delightfully friendly and welcoming as we were feted at petrol stations, markets and town centres throughout our ride. Small motorbikes would ride alongside at every town, calling out to us and cheering us on whilst at the same time nearly causing multiple accidents. Cars would drive in tandem beside us as the passengers gazed with rapture at our bikes, there are no big bikes here and so ours caused a stir and drew crowds wherever we went. Even the police got in on the act and pursued us through one town, no siren just a voice yelling in Farsi through the speakers, he caught up with the lead rider just as we reached the town limits, we thought we were in trouble (for some it was getting to be a habit), but no, he just wanted to provide a police escort and so he parked beside the final roundabout with lights flashing and waving us past whilst beaming widely. We were on the receiving end of many gifts of food, meals and drinks when shopkeepers would refuse to accept our offerings of payment, even the cake shop man (and they’re good cakes in Iran) was adamant that he needed no money and was just happy to see us in his country.

Iran seems to be where the crazy drivers of the world unite. Riders in our group inquired about the rules for roundabouts to be told that there are no rules, sometimes people have the right of way upon entering the roundabout but usually it’s more of a free for all. With cars, trucks and bikes all pushing their way through, assertiveness is definitely an essential attribute for riding here.

At the bank, while changing money on the first morning, the bank manager upon realising he was dealing with Americans (passports have to be produced), asked them “Aren’t you afraid to be here?” Possibly not the best of starts for the Yanks, though they did manage to reply cheerfully about what a friendly country it was.

We took dusty trails winding through the mountains in the west, passing fields of vivid scarlet poppies and small Kurdish settlements where the women were more brightly clad than we had seen since Istanbul, though naturally still covered up. It started getting warmer as we turned eastwards though we had some relief from the heat, staying at altitude in a mountain town. The next morning heading down a fantastic twisting road, watching in disbelief as the GPS screens on our bikes registered a descent from 1500 metres to MINUS 15 metres in just 20 minutes of riding, at which point we had reached the shores of the Caspian Sea and were well below sea level beside the largest inland sea on the planet.

We looked round in disbelief, emerald green paddy fields stretched away into the distance on both sides of us, looking more reminiscent of South East Asia than what we expected in a country best known for its desert environment. Here the local people were dressed less conservatively, probably to make it easier as they work in the fields up to their knees in water all day. We stayed in a beach resort hotel where the staff were extremely alarmed to hear of our plans to swim in the Caspian Sea- “It’s practically winter” they spluttered and watched in disbelief as some hardy souls rode down to the beach. Covering up was still a necessity for women even when swimming but the blokes were able to swim in shorts. The water was pronounced warmer than the sea off England (though that’s not saying much).


Petrol is very cheap in Iran though it can be hard to track down, fuel stations being few and far between (there’s obviously no money to be made when it’s so cheap). When we did find a place selling benzine (Farsi for petrol), the queuing system was chaotic to say the least as cars and bikes jockeyed for position at the one or two pumps that were operational. Each pushing past the others to get to that nozzle- our riders quickly learnt- there’s no chivalry at the pump.

Despite having to pay a “foreigners’ premium” for our fuel which made it twice the price that the locals paid, we were able to fill our tanks for less than £8.00. The bikes were running well, though one had a spill on a dirt track and ended up with a broken windscreen and bruised dignity. The heat increased the further east we travelled, by this point, after more than a thousand miles in Iran we were getting close to the Afghan border. The higher temperatures made the chaotic cities in this area even more challenging to negotiate, and wherever possible we took smaller roads, though often this was a bit of a Russian roulette style of navigation as away from the main roads, the signs were all in Farsi, and completely unintelligible to us. Everyone was willing to help us along our way but English is not widely spoken, though occasionally we would strike lucky and find some languages in common, whether it was German, French or even Italian on one occasion when the Latin American explorers amongst us were able to use their rusty Spanish to make themselves understood.

Between them, our group has a wealth of international riding experience including those who have successfully crossed deserts ranging from the Simpson, the Sahara and the Atacama to the Gobi as well as mountain ranges too numerous to list. Previous extensive international riding experience is a necessity for this expedition as it’s the most challenging that GlobeBusters offers.

We ended our time in Iran staying in an area that owes more to the Alpine forests of Switzerland than the arid and parched landscapes we’d spent the previous days travelling through. Once more Iran had surprised us.

Turkish Delights Part Two

Cappadocia, the land of troglodytes, ancient underground cities and home to some of Turkey’s most spectacular scenery. We took a couple of days out to enjoy our surroundings including a very bleary-eyed group who met at 4.45am to try hot-air ballooning. Well, what can we say to do it justice, it was definitely worth getting up at such an unsociable time, the views were breath-taking and the sight of 40 hot air balloons drifting quietly across the fantastic landscape of incredible rock formations was amazing. Time was also spent exploring the minor dirt tracks that criss-cross the landscape and treks to experience the underground world of the troglodytes.

The snow-topped mountains were looking ominous in the distance as we left our Cappadocian Cave Hotel which had been not only surprisingly cosy but also luxurious. The cute puppy which we’d nicknamed Scrappy Doo after Scooby’s nephew was unhappy to see us go, we were tempted to adopt him as Silk Road mascot and smuggle him in our luggage, but were worried that where we are going some weeks down the road he might end up in the cooking pot!

We wound our way out of the village down narrow cobbled streets, so narrow in fact that some riders had thought they were merely footpaths; which had created some confusion with finding our particular cave hotel – did we mention that almost every other hotel is a cave one?

We found ourselves at a thermal spring resort with a difference, the water was teeming with flesh-eating fish, having assured us they’re not piranhas and that actually, they’re good for you, we tentatively lowered ourselves into the warm bubbling water. This experience was not for the squeamish or ticklish and we soon found out who had the highest tolerance to being nibbled as the fish ate away at the dead skin cells on our bodies.

Onward into the mountains and cosy log cabins at the end of the day as we rested our weary bones following a long haul over the high altitude passes in cold weather. We’d also had some new experiences today when Colin and Shirley, were pulled in for speeding – thus earning Colin the nickname Boy Racer Richardson and a speeding ticket which he’s brandishing as a badge of honour, as up to now he’d been one of our more sedate riders. Obviously the rest of us, observing what had happened to him rode past demurely. All except one, yep, Mr Lucky also got hauled in and managed to get a double fine.

One more day of mountain riding took us along a fantastic river valley where the narrow dirt track hugged the steep walls, the track varied from gravel to mud and small river crossings, an enjoyable challenge for most, including a dark tunnel full of mud and construction lorries. We’re beginning to resemble overland adventurers as we looked at each other’s mud splattered clothing. Tyre huggers were beginning to get lost and by the end of the day three had been removed either intentionally or otherwise. The fort at Ani near Kars gave us an opportunity to explore the ruins dating through several centuries and to look across at Armenia.

Our final stop in Turkey was at Dogubeazit or Doggy Biscuit as it’s more affectionately known. The last town in Turkey and the place to watch the sun set over Mount Ararat, for women to buy the all important chadors for covering up in Iran and for some, most importantly toast farewell to secular countries with our last alcoholic drinks for some time. Tomorrow, we cross over to…… Iran.

Turkish Delights Part One

We finally dragged ourselves away from the myriad of attractions that Istanbul has to offer. From the bustling, vibrant Grand Bazaar, fantastic restaurants and the hammams (Turkish Baths) complete with masseurs who are very complimentary, or so we were told by one British rider but who then wouldn’t go into detail.

We’d been staying in a great hotel, the Legacy Ottoman and the rather smart hotel staff probably breathed a sigh of relief as our crowd of rough and ready bikers roared out of their underground car park - we had been a complete contrast to the other guests with our stomping Robocop-style motocross boots, battered bike cases and travel-stained clothing.

Revving up, the group scattered into different directions upon leaving the city which was a bit odd as we were all supposed to be following the same road route. Some even managed to cross into Asia on a completely different bridge. Once more the challenge of the motorway toll system raised its head, pre-paid cards are required, however there’s a lack of information about how and where to purchase these cards, but we all got through in our own ways with some setting off alarms and sirens as they did so.





Having crossed the Bosphorous, we were now in Asia, the pace of life immediately felt slower and even the Sea of Marmaris on our right was flat and calm as we headed eastwards. We were soon off the motorway system and winding our way onto the hills, passing through small villages where traffic was sparse and whole families in their Sunday best were riding on their tractors to visit friends and relatives. The group is bonding well, the Americans are fine with being called Yanks, though when the Aussies informed them they’re known as Seppoes in Australia that was met with a more doubtful response. Lots of tea (chay in Turkish) and coffee breaks in small village tea shops, where the locals gather round to ask about our journey and react with disbelief when we tell them we’re going to Mount Everest. We now have Apo with us, our local tour guide and riding shotgun in the van with Al having to put up with Al’s constant stream of bad jokes. Every village has at least one mosque and the call from the minarets is following us across the country.

One of our riders seems to have had more than his fair share of incidents having seen his bike dropped by someone else, his steering dampener has died on him, he fell down the stairs at the hotel (luckily whilst wearing full bike gear) and then last night ended up 90 miles from the hotel and not sure how he got there. He’s still smiling. In fact every-one is.

Silk Road Departure

In what is becoming a firm favourite in the Top Ten of “Great Starts to an Expedition”, the Ace Café in London once more played host to GlobeBusters riders, this time for the commencement of the 2011 Silk Road and Everest trip. Hungry riders and supporters alike made the most of the Full English breakfasts, for some of us, they are to be the last proper fry ups for several months.

It was good to see previous Silk Roaders Ed and Lorraine, Resh a High Andes rider as well as Roddy from James Cargo amongst the group of well-wishers and curious but impressed passers-by who waved us off outside. We left behind a quiet London, which was a contrast to the previous day when the streets had been packed with spectators from around the world who’d descended on the city for the Royal Wedding.

We had a distinct lack of red, white and blue bunting as our 10 bikes and the van set off in brilliant sunshine. We were overtaken on the M25 by a closely packed and neat formation of police riders – they were eight members of the Special Escort Group demonstrating their immaculate riding skills, more often put to good use as VIP escorts. As one rider put it “They were poetry in motion” and an extremely impressive sight.
We continued onto what was for many their first time using the Channel Tunnel. A novel experience to be riding a bike onto a train and then 40 minutes later out into the French countryside. The first few days of the Silk Road Expedition involves a lot of main road riding to get us to Istanbul and Asia as quickly as possible.

Our first night on the continent in a sleepy Belgian town, another rider met up with us, one who’d travelled up from Switzerland to join our group. We were lucky with the weather for most of the time as we crossed Europe, steadily heading south east and at times crossing three or four countries in one day.

En route we had a new stopping point for Globebusters, the BMW Alpine Hotel at Reutte. Very modern, minimalistic and new, it’s nestled on the edge of the Alps in Austria. The following morning it was quite eerie as we left, passing forests and lakes wreathed in the morning mist. Again we had more motorway sections with some countryside riding including a short but sobering stop in Croatia where we saw war damaged houses from the 1991-1995 conflict. A contrast to the green fields and blossom filled trees around them. Though some of those green fields still have mines hidden in them.

There were some lovely twisting mountain roads throughout the ride across Europe, most of these roads little known to us living in the west of the continent, the hills of Serbia were one such location.
Meanwhile, some found the sights of Sofia in Bulgaria so appealing (that is appealing and not appalling) that they went round the ring road twice, no names, they know who they are. With a brief stay in the Greek town of Serres we woke to torrential rain, pulling on waterproofs before setting off for the last of the European roads and the fabled city of Istanbul. The sun shone as the Mediterranean Sea came into view, and we made the most of it, as we’ll be crossing the planet’s largest land mass and riding almost 12,000 miles until we see the sea again- the Pacific Ocean at the port near Beijing.

As we neared the end of our 360 mile ride for the day, we really felt as if the Silk Road was beginning, with the call of the muzzein echoing from the mosques around us. We had reached Istanbul, the city of minarets, spices and Turkish delight. We met with the final two participants to complete our truly international group of three Americans, two Australians, one Swiss, one Swede, one Jersey-manand four British riders. Introductions were made and stories exchanged whilst feasting on a fantastic Turkish meal which seemed to have a never ending stream of dishes issuing from the kitchen and yes, kebabs did appear at some point in the meal.

A couple of days to enjoy Istanbul and its many charms before departing on Sunday for rural Turkey and ballooning in Cappadochia.

That’s it we are off!

After months and years of planning our epic ride from the Ace Café in London to Beijing is underway. Ahead of us is 13 weeks of adventure and challenge. We will be taking a new route this year through Iran and onwards into Central Asia. We are of course still heading for Everest Base Camp en route, before we traverse eastern China to our final destination in Beijing. Follow the story here of the 13 riders (plus one pillion) as they undertake this amazing journey.